June 27th………..”GRANDPA, TELL US ABOUT ONE OF YOUR IMAGINATION PLAYTIMES ON THE FARM. WHAT INSPIRED YOU AND WHERE DID YOU PLAY OUT YOUR ADVENTURES”???

The reverberating, 45 caliber echoes of Sergeant ‘Chip’ Saunder’s Thompson submachine gun signaled the end for the Germans caught on a run up against the walls of a French town. This loudly dramatic scene was set in World War II, not long after the D-Day Invasion of France in June 1944.

With the muzzle of his Tommy Gun still smoking, another episode of the television drama series called, “Combat” rolled to a climactic conclusion. My 8 year old heartbeat, in 1962, was still pounding along with my sweaty palms as I sat on the edge of our Living Room couch…..all excited!!!!!!

Now, as that television scene faded, across the screen of our black & white Zenith TV, came time for the happy bear dancing on a floating log for another “Hamm’s Beer” commercial. Along with the cartoon bear was the famous, Indian-sounding song jingle ………(Indian drums beating in the background) “From the land of sky blue water (echoing “water”), From the land of pines, Lofty balsams, Comes the beer refreshing. Hamm’s, the beer refreshing!” 😉

I’m sure Dad enjoyed that commercial, cause he savored a nice cold beer, occasionally, after a hard day’s work on our farm. For me? I couldn’t wait to get back to the “Combat'” show’s final conclusion and revealing to us scenes for next week before they rolled the credits and the theme music flowed. Even the military style of the theme music had my 8 year old feet marching right out of the Living Room and into the bathroom to brush my teeth in time for bed.

All night, well…….till I fell asleep, that is, my cranial kingdom of kid imagination couldn’t wait for tomorrow and my make-believe army to attack the Nazi’s out in the wooded windbreak area of our farm. Pretty soon, my little boy snores imitated a Thompson 45 caliber submachine gun in my dreams!!! 😉

At dawn, my young eyes cracked open, there upon my pillow, to see a glorious Minnesota morning streaming through my second-story bedroom window. What a great day for a “Combat” battle with my imaginary battalion under the command of General Norski………ME!!! 😉

Priorities being what they were, I first had to be obedient to my daily farm chores with Dad down in the barn and help with feeding cows, calves and sometimes haul grain to our hog house for the pigs. Next came a scrumptious breakfast by our amazing mom, but, after that, the day was mine to ‘carry out the mission’ that I had watched the previous evening on the TV adventure show……”Combat”!!

If there was one thing I learned from Sergeant ‘Chip’, it was to always stay low to make myself less of a target for those sneaky ‘Krauts’ (a slang term in those days for a German soldier). My imaginary ‘soldiers’ and I slithered through the underbrush of our tree-filled windbreak as we scouted out the enemy positions for our attack and conquer plan.

Since only rich kids could afford the fancy, plastic machine gun toys, I had to get creative as I scrounged through our woods until I found just the right broken branch that at least resembled a Tommy Gun like Sergeant ‘Chip’ carried.

On the edge of our farm’s windbreak, I gazed out over our field to the west of our property and ‘saw’ the Germans trying to outflank my men. Commanding all my mortars, bazookas and artillery to open fire all at once, I made all kinds of wild mouth sounds of guns firing and bomb explosions as we were successful in saving the day with the invisible battalion of this “Combat” TV-inspired Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!! 😉

June 26th……….POEM – “Tending Their Grave” created by N. Elliott Noorlun on July 16th, 2017 on the Sunday morning of our mother’s Memorial Service. I brought tools and supplies to trim, clean and beautify Mom and Dad’s grave, as well as my elder sister, Rosemary’s grave, too.

Sunday morning worship, Upon my knees, Tending their grave, Near shady trees.

From a choir of birds, His anthems raise, As I give thanks, For all of their days.

Norwegian farmers, For most of their years, Tilling His soil, Through joys or tears.

They who gave so much, With caring heart, And now rest here together, Never to part.

I used the tool, That our daddy had made, To trim the spot, Where they are laid.

And as we return, To everyday life, We’ll still love this Norwegian, Husband and wife!!! ><>

June 25th………“DID YOU EVER LOSE ELECTRICITY ON YOUR FARM? WHAT CAUSED THE OUTAGE AND HOW LONG DID IT LAST TILL POWER WAS RESTORED”??

It fell in silent, sheathings of stealth while we slept cozily in our farmhouse beds that night. Early spring of 1966 saw the budding of every living plant and tree that were gladly showing indications, on the previous evening, of winter starting to let go of its grip and new life beginning to emerge.

Only problem was, the warm rain that night, in the upper atmosphere, fell through the clouds to the shock of a bitterly cold freeze happening at ground level. Every gentle droplet of moisture had no choice but to transform itself from water to ice. The more it rained down from the upper realms of clouds above us, the more the ice began to form layer after layer upon everything in and around our beloved hometown of Kiester, Minnesota.

The Norwegian ‘god of the winds’, Njord (pronounced -Nyord), must’ve been angered by this dilemma and was riled to the point of churning the winds into a fevered pitch as they now also brought snow into this cataclysmic scenario. Not only were the tall, wooden power poles cocooning within ever-thickening ice layers, but the actual powerline wires, between each pole, had gained between 250 to 500 pounds of ice on EACH line as the wind began to make them ‘gallop’ in the wildly wicked nighttime sky.

As the wind-god, Njord, rode the curlicued clouds above all this, he must’ve heard the creaking of those diligently faithful power-poles that were trying their wooden best to keep upright with their sagging load of ice-encrusted powerlines. Alas, the weight of the ice and the onslaught of wind were just too much and the wooden sentinels began to buckle, snap and fall to earth in loudly crescendoed, calamitous crashes; carrying their precious energy-giving supply of electrical power with them to the rock-hard ground. For literally miles around us, the power poles were snapped like matchsticks; rendering us all to darkness even before the next frigid sunrise arose to the east.

As our eyes opened that morning, our world had been thrown backwards by almost 100 years to the time of our grand and great grandparents. No lights, no radio, no television and no electricity to carry on the farm chores that required it, like milking cows.

By today’s dairy standards, our herd of Holstein cows was quite small as they numbered only fifteen ‘head’, but Dad was about to experience the ‘squeeze’ of bovine reality. Even without electricity……those cows had to be milked twice a day; now it would be by hand.

That first snowbound morning, with the blizzard still at a howl, our father, Russell, entered the darkness of the barn with an oil lamp in hand to be able to see his way from cow to cow for milking. With the oil lamp for general lighting and a battery-powered flashlight in his bib overalls, he saw that ahead of him lay the daunting task of hand-milking fifteen Holstein cows that are known for producing large volumes of milk. Conservatively, a single cow can produce about three gallons of milk morning and evening for a total of six gallons a day (or more).

Without the convenience of electricity to run his two “Surge” brand, vacuum-powered milking machines, Dad had to bring out his little milking stool and ‘belly up to the milk bar’ at the first cow in the stanchion lineup. Sources say that it can take up to 250 squeezes of the cow’s various milk spigots (known as teats) to gain a gallon of milk in your bucket below. What an overwhelming ordeal it was for our father to slowly squeeze cow after cow to get them milked morning and night. For our fifteen Holsteins, that would basically calculate to nearly 15,000 squeezes (or more) per day until the electricity was eventually restored to our farm. Well, within a day or so of this hand torture, our patriarch’s hands were literally cramping up into gnarled, turned in digits of pain.

To Dad’s rescue came our beloved neighbor and ‘other grandpa’, Harry Bauman. Being a widower and all alone at his farm up the road, ‘Grandpa’ Harry made his way through the snowdrifts with his Chevrolet to our farm and settled in with us for the duration of this snow storm. Now our poppa had another set of hands to help milk morning and night.

Even with our precious Harry there to help us, Dad just knew there had to be a better way to get the milking done during the interim of this time without electricity.

An “AHHAAAA” moment lit up inside our Norwegian patriarch’s brain when he realized that he could borrow vacuum power from the engine of his trustworthy Farmall H tractor. Brushing snow off of his red beauty, Russell punched the starter and the H came to life. Backing up his Farmall closely to the barn door, our hardworking farmer dad ran a rubber hose from the tractor’s motor (that produced at least some vacuum) and hooked the other end of the hose to his milker. Revving up the engine to full speed, he was then able to make one of his “Surge” milker machines work!!! We were in awe of his ‘can do’ attitude of gratitude for making do with what he had to work with.

With the milking of cows now met and conquered, the next task without electricity was how would we water our animals without electricity to work the well pump?? With a phone call and a wagon, our sweet, widowed neighbor lady down the road, Mrs. Faith Parks, said, “Come on over, Russ, you can have all the water you’ll need from my artesian, year-round well”!!! Now the animals had water, too!!! So blessed we were for being part of the family of the fine fellowship of friendly farmers around us!!

As the blizzard subsided, we realized we’d have to get all chores done before the sun went down. It was just easier than carrying oil lamps or flashlights in the dark.

Our family kitchen, during this powerless time, became the focal point of our family and ‘Grandpa’ Harry Bauman, who was our guest till the power came back on someday. Since we had no electricity to run our farm home’s furnace for heat, Mom and Dad saw to it that we had plenty of firewood and even shelled corncobs to burn in the one side of our two-way stove. Therefore, one side of the stove could burn wood, coal or corncobs while the other side of our stove was gas-operated. Goodness gracious how we were blessed with warmth AND a way to cook our food. Mom hung long, heavy quilts across the doorway into the Living Room in order to trap that precious heat in our Kitchen. There, in that sanctuary of warmth, the five of us gathered each day for Breakfast, Dinner, Lunch and Supper while the two-way stove worked faithfully to feed us and warm us. The evenings were especially cozy as we emulated our family forefathers by basking in the glow of oil lamps while reading, playing cards and/or telling stories till it was time for little sister and I to grab our flashlights to see as we’d climb the stairs and jump under the thick blankets of our beds up in our VERY chilly bedrooms.

Through their dedicated diligence and enormous efforts, our local electrical power company eventually replaced all those ‘snapped matchsticks’ with brand new power poles and restrung miles and miles of electric power lines to once again, after about a week and a half, bring lights, radio, television and all the other modern conveniences back into the life of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

June 24th……….POEM – “The Old Sentinel Stands” created by N. Elliott Noorlun

All vestige of life, Has been torn from her hold, Her timbers now moan, So alone.

Fellow farm buildings gone, It’s just she that remains, Neglect and decay now prone.

Both lovely and sad, This sentinel stands, Void of the farm that in past was.

Once sounds of life, Both of happy and strife, Now fall deaf in her silent hurrahs.

Once the bulwark of shelter, For animal’s life, A bastion for farmer’s good work,

Now stands all alone, And in silence will groan, To its care, Gnawing years will shirk.

One final ill-wind, Will tumble her down, Crushing this noble edifice to its knees.

But be known dear old barn, I’m thankful for, How faithfully you served to please!!!

June 23rd………….“SHARE A STORY WITH US ABOUT OUR GREAT GRANDPA RUSSELL DURING HIS CHILDHOOD ON THEIR FAMILY FARM IN NORTHERN MINNESOTA”.

A benign blow of equine Belgian boogers blasted out of the soft, fluttering nostrils of that enormous stallion whose immense head towered like a mountain above little Russell Noorlun.

That animal, having been bequeathed with a title suiting his good temperament, “Sugar” lived up to his name. This gentle giant of a muscular Belgian draft horse stood in placid obeisance as Edwin Noorlun, Russell’s farmer father, systematically began to disconnect and pull the impressive leather harnessing off of his beloved work horse.

“Cane” was “Sugar’s” working partner, there on their family farm, and had already been relieved of his harness and was now enjoying great slurps of water from the stock tank nearby. Since his birth in 1888, Edwin had learned to firmly, but gently, train and drive these massive draft horses. He also passed on his own gentle spirit as he inculcated traits of mutual respect and obedience from all his animals, especially these mighty giants who were the backbone of success in the heavy field work of their farm in the wilds of northern Minnesota.

Edwin’s son, Russ, was one energetic Norwegian little boy in his 10th year of life there in 1928. School was out for summer vacation and this gave Russ the opportunity to gladly be his beloved father’s shadow there on their farm just outside of Mahnomen, Minnesota on the White Earth Indian Reservation.

Earlier that morning, Russ had experienced the thrill of pretending to drive his dad’s team of “Sugar” and “Cane” as they plowed some acreage near their farmyard. Although Edwin confidently held the long reins of the team’s harness, he allowed his young son to grab the plow’s handlebars and walk in the cool earth furrow that the plow in front of him created with every rolling slice of sod that was carved from the earth’s surface and laid over to be later tilled and planted.

By the time mother, Marie, rang the dinner bell at noon, this father and son team were already guiding the team back to the homeplace; all the while admiring how Mother Earth had now polished that plowshare to a sparkling mirror finish from that good soil scouring the metal surface smooth.

Both “Sugar” and “Cane”, having now been released from their working harness, were finishing the quenching of their thirst and enjoying their own noon meal. With the inviting aroma of fried chicken, potatoes and corn coming from the family kitchen, Ed and Russ joined the rest of the family inside for a wonderful noon family feed.

It was customary for Dad and Mom Noorlun to take a restful nap in the early afternoon which gave young Russell an idea. Trotting outside and through the lush White Birch woods, Russ came to the boarded fence line of the pasture where “Sugar” and “Cane” were now relaxing their day away. Climbing to the top rail of the board fence, Russ called to “Sugar” to come over and get some sugar cubes that were in this young man’s bib overall pockets. As “Sugar” snuggled up against the fence line to get his sugar, Russell took his opportunity to climb on board the wide, expansive back of this gentle behemoth. There was Russ, on top of the world, both figuratively and literally. “Sugar” didn’t mind his rider one bit and went back to a leisurely stroll around the pasture looking for more green goodness to eat while Russ enjoyed the perspective of a little king on his thrown. Since his own parents were napping inside their farm house, Russ thought, “Why not, I think I’ll take a sky high nap myself”. That little ten year old boy laid back, closed his Norwegian eyes and fell blissfully asleep. It was quite a serene scene as he lay across the back of this Belgian draft horse stallion known sweetly as “Sugar”. With every equine footstep as he grazed, “Sugar” was rocking his little human rider to sleep on a journey to a kingdom called Slumberland and the province of Sweet Dreams. What a peaceful afternoon that was for the father of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son. 😉

June 22nd……….“GRANDPA, DO YOU STILL HAVE SOME OF YOUR GRADE SCHOOL REPORT CARDS”???

POEM – “In Recess I Got A+” created by N. Elliott Noorlun

Elementary School Report Cards, From the days of the long gone by,

When life was new and sad days few, A happy lad was I!!

Guided through, These early years, By loving teachers who,

Paired with parents, Together were one, Tried to teach this lil’ “Magoo”!!!

In “Recess”, heck, I got all A’s, In “Lunch” I was the Champ!

It’s just that getting, Near to books, Was a place I’d seldom camp.

But, overall, I’m grateful for, Each educator’s heart,

Through this thick skull, An empty hull, They’d teach this lil’ upstart!!! 😉

June 21st………..“WHAT WAS A PRANK YOUR FARMER FATHER PLAYED THAT BROUGHT OUT THE NORWEGIAN LANGUAGE FROM YOUR MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER AMANDA”???

Never was there a more playful pair of princely pranksters that promulgated pleasing proportions of punny funnies!!!

These two happy cohorts in crime were our mother’s Uncle Oscar Bidne and our very own Duke of Delights…..our daddy, Russell!!

You see, our mother was a mere 11 years younger than her Aunt Esther Rogness Bidne. As a result, they saw themselves to be more like sisters to each other than aunt and niece. So, when Esther married Oscar Bidne, Clarice and Esther’s close relationship over the years manifested itself in many fine, fun foursomes of fellowship together in Dad and Mom’s early years of marriage.

Men, in general, have this ubiquitous paradigm of wanting to have some kind of mischievous fun in daily life……..especially when it’s at the cost of someone else’s embarrassment. Oscar and Russ were like two proverbial peas-in-a-pod when it came to contriving, employing and enjoying a one-upmanship against some unsuspecting ‘victim’. Take for instance, the time when Oscar would wedge a pipe underneath the floorboards of an old Model A Ford so that the owner, no matter how hard he pressed down on the gas pedal, could not make that car go!! 😉 Or, the times that Russ would hook up wires and a switch from his battery to the metal door frame or metal wheels of his 1929 Chevy. At nighttime dances, his victim would be leaning too heavily in the open window, while chatting, with his bare arms on the car frame when ZAPPP!!!! Dad would hit the switch to give him an electric shock that made him crack his head on the upper window frame as he was catapulted away from the vehicle; with Dad giggling uncontrollably, of course!!! 😉 And heaven help the poor sucker that thought he could get away with ‘relieving himself’ (like a dog) on Dad’s metal wheel rims in the darkness at that dance………..KAZOWIE!!!!! he’d get a shock that almost turned him into a soprano!!! 😉

Into this story wanders our beloved and quiet maternal grandmother, Amanda Rogness Sletten. I remember Grandma Amanda to be the essence of gentility and proper decorum. Soft spoken and kind she was, with her vocabulary always hinged upon her godly morals of wanting to please her Lord Jesus in her daily choice of wording in any conversation.

Little did our Norwegian matriarch know of the silliness that Oscar and Dad had cooked up for her inside our family’s old 1937 Cheverolet Master Deluxe one day. Wires had been run from the Chevrolet’s battery to the metal springs under what would be Amanda’s passenger seat. Of course, as in the past, Dad had a switch hidden to control the ON and OFF of what was fomenting into what would be an UPlifting and shocking experience for our totally unsuspecting grandma!!!

There was a family gathering at our farm that day and Amanda needed to have Dad run her into our hometown of Kiester to pick up a few more things for the big meal that was being prepared. “Sure, Grandma Sletten, I’ll be happy to drive you to Kiester”!!! , said our prankster poppa with a wink in his eye!! 😉

A metallic ‘kah-TWANG’ sounded as Amanda briskly shut her passenger door and settled into the seat that was about to give her a BUZZZZZ!!!

Small talk bantered between Russ and Amanda as they bounced along the gravel roads that led to our village of Kiester. It was during one of those gravel-induced bounces that Dad hit the switch that shot a battery charge to Amanda’s ‘posterior motives’ that rested just above her now HOT SEAT!!!

True to the mildness of her sweet personality, Amanda did not curse or yell at Russell for the shocking experience. Instead, literally jumping off her car seat, she blurted out loudly in Norwegian……..“HAR DU SETT SLICKE”!!!! (which translated into English means “HAVE YOU SEEN SUCH”!!!

Stinker that he was, by this time Dad had shut off the switch to Grandma’s ‘hot seat’ and began laughing so hard he about lost control and drove into the ditch with our Chevy!!! Do you suppose she was now wise to the trickster father of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son????………Yah shure yew betcha!!! 😉

June 20th………“GRANDPA, DID THE ANIMALS ON YOUR FARM SMELL? WASN’T THAT NASTY TO YOUR NOSE”??

POEM – “The Smell Of The Farm” created by N. Elliott Noorlun

The smell of the farm, Can do no harm, To a boy who grew up there.

I slowly drive by to sniff, A great big whiff, Of powerful bovine air.

Reminds me of Dad, Who told this lad, “Don’t ya like the smell, my Sonny”?

“For me it’s fine, And I’ll not whine”, “Cause that’s the smell of MONEY”!!! 😉

For some it’s ALARM, At the smell of the farm, Their nose they close quite tightly.

They quickly berate, And might even hate, What to them is soiled and unsightly.

But to me there’s a charm, With all things on the farm, Its hard workers do feed our great nation.

So I’m here to tell, I breathe deep that farm smell, Bringing memory’s sweetest elation!!! 😉

July 4th…….POEM – “Please Call This Day By Its Name” created by N. Elliott Noorlun

Please call this patriot holiday, By its honored, rightful name.

To call it just a number, Is really quite a shame!!!

You wouldn’t assign a number, To the child that you gave birth,

Why steal the glory, In the story, Of this greatest land on earth!!??

Do you say, “Happy February 14”? Or “Merry December 25”?

For the next generation, Let’s proclaim the elation, Of why this country’s ALIVE!!!

Take a whole day, Or even a week, To share the story of love for our land!!!

Of patriot’s blood, And sacrifice, And of why we ‘strike up the band’!!

To be treated like a mere number, This precious holiday,

Is really a shame, For it’s in the NAME, That everyone should say!!

With every other holiday, We label it with style;

From commercials and ads, Both kids and dads, Recite it a country mile.

So teach the next generation, What this day is all about!!

“INDEPENDENCE DAY!!! HIP HIP HOORAY”!!! Is what we all should shout!!!

June 19th………..“DID YOU HAVE LOTS OF BIG SHADE TREES AROUND YOUR HOUSE ON YOUR FARM IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA? ARE THEY STILL THERE”??

“Last one outside to play is a rotten egg”!!!! teased big brother Lowell to tiny sister Rosie as he bolted from the breakfast table. Of course, the wink in his little boy eye gave away the great love he had for his sibling who was three years his junior.

As an itty bitty Norwegian toddler girl, Rosemary Arlone Noorlun couldn’t wait to scarf down the last of Mom’s yummy bacon and eggs as she pushed off from the table and ran over to our mother, Clarice. Fluffing happily into Mom’s billowing skirt, Rosie, teeny as she was, gave Mom’s thigh a big love squeeze as she said, “Thanks, Mommy, for breakfast”!!! and varoom!, her toddler legs had her quickly on the heels of her big brudder.

Like two peas in a pod, Lowell was waiting for his sister at the back porch cement landing on that fine, summer Minnesota day. Together now, they took off on a run, making a banking turn to the left as they flew around the corner of the house; almost like two little Norwegian airplanes flying to that day’s adventure. With unbounded energy of youth, these two mini-Norwegians ran out to the front ‘forest’ that existed along the expansive space between the graveled road and our farm home. Close to 100 years earlier, the pioneers that had homesteaded this land of ours were obviously thinking of the future and how grand it would be to have a major stand of deciduous trees (and some evergreens) to be their bulwark against winter’s assailing blizzard forces and for cooling against summer’s high heat and humidity. Now, many decades later, Lowell and Rosemary were basking in the beauty of this heavenly canopy of green coolness and fun.

The sky, above our green crown of leaves, was the limit when it came to fun times. “Hide & Seek” and numerous other peekaboo games were relished by these two darlings as they darted from tree to tree under the dappled chill of these graceful green giants that populated our front farm yard.

Our parents, Russell and Clarice, had moved onto this farm in the Spring of 1946, just months before Rosemary entered the world. They had heard that the current owners, Morton and Tina Holstad, were wanting to retire to nearby Kiester village and finish out their years in comfort there, away from the hard manual labor and daily rigors of farm life. Tina’s parents had owned this farm in her youth, but now, it was the Noorlun family who would rent (and eventually purchase) this lovely acreage.

For whatever their reasoning, the Holstads were concerned that those towering trees in our front yard could possibly someday be blown against the house in a winter storm or summer tornado. So, their eventual decision was communicated to our father, their tenant, to cut down all the trees. The year was around 1948.

It’s a good thing that, at roughly 30 years of age, Daddy was still a strappin’ young buck of a man because this task ahead of him would test his mettle against these wooden wonders that had to come down.

Pretty soon, the sound of axes could be heard resonating from our front yard forest. Our father, Russell, and his helpers became what is known in logging terms as ‘sawyers’. Since gas-powered chainsaws were still years away from common use, in the late 1940’s, Russell used one or more devices called, a ‘Two-Man Crosscut Saw’. They were also colloquially known as, ‘Misery Whips’ for the hard work it took for two men to push and pull them across the breadth of a tree trunk till it finally fell to the ground.

Day by day, and week by week, that lovely forest of deciduous beauty eventually became firewood. Then, it was the amazingly tough task of digging around the many leftover stumps and, with a chain and our F-20 Farmall tractor, pulling out those stubborn tree stumps that defined the term, “recalcitrant” to the max!!!

The residual remnants of our former forest became ubiquitous to the point that even our family gatherings would take place near the last two shade trees for picnics while the log piles of sister trees resided nearby. On a positive note, those log piles did make for a new playground, of sorts, for Lowell, Rosie and other cousins to enjoy!!! 😉

Even though our wooden gentle giants were now gone, our family still could be grateful for the fuel that they provided for our home in the next number of years to come.

Dad would often split a load of wood, from those former trees, and back up a wagon full to the south side of our farm home. He’d then open our basement window to toss wood down through the window to the basement below where our hired-hand, John Madsen or our family friend, Harry Bauman, would stack the wood to be used in our kitchen stove which burned wood, coal or corncobs on one side and propane gas on the other side.

Nothing went to waste on the farm of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!! 😉